


Untitled

by virgocas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgocas/pseuds/virgocas





	Untitled

A frog sat, unmoving, in the swampy grass at the pond’s edge, staring out contemplatively across the water. Castiel was plopped nearby, chin resting in his palm. Perhaps contemplatively wasn’t the correct adverb. Glumly, melancholically, lamentably, were all more accurate. He threw a crumpled leaf and the frog hopped away. Perched up on the hill behind him was a small, white cottage- his grandfather’s home. His mother had given him a choice; accompany the rest of his siblings on a family road trip, or go stay with the cantankerous man who had helped raise them several years ago. Before Castiel could remember, really. He had a few hazy remnants of what he supposed were memories, though they could just as easily be the leftovers of old dreams. He chose not to dwell on it.

Currently, he was vaguely regretting his decision. His grandfather was slowly developing a harmless form of dementia. Harmless largely due to the fact that he did not own a car, relied on a delivery service for groceries, and rarely left his property. As his temporary tenant, Castiel had no choice but to adopt this lifestyle. The scenery was lovely, but that was about the only saving grace of coming to live out in the middle of the nowhere for the summer. Meadows surrounded the little house, stretching out until they reached forests. The only field that did not turn into woods met a long dirt road that led out to the village. A small, quaint town, occupied mostly by older folks, fishermen, and shop owners. It was about seven miles away, and Castiel didn’t have it in him to make the trip every day. He did have access to a rickety, rusting, slightly unsafe bicycle from the 40s, which had a funny wooden crate strapped to the back. It was not the most practical method of transportation. Alas, it was all he had.

It could be worse, he supposed. He could be stuck in Gabriel’s ancient VW bus. The thing was bright yellow and absolutely heinous. And at the moment, probably stuffed full of Castiel’s ten other siblings. He’d grown up with six brothers and five sisters. It had been fun for the most part, sometimes detrimental to their health. But their mother was wonderful. Patient, kindhearted, loving, funny, and warm. Castiel missed her in spite of being exiled (for all intensive purposes) to the countryside. He did enjoy the company of his grandfather, however, even if the man was rather surly. They had an unspoken agreement to stay out of one another’s way, but not to hesitate if the other needed something or wanted companionship. They ate breakfast together each morning, and occasionally lunch. Dinner was a gamble, as Castiel’s grandfather sometimes entirely skipped the meal and went straight to bed. Still, it was nice to be rooming with someone who wasn’t constantly badgering him. 

Overhead, the clouds began to converge, turning the sky ashen. Castiel bid farewell to his amphibious friend and abandoned the stick he’d been drawing mud shapes with. He ran up the hill, slipping a few times on wet grass, and entered the house. The screen door banged loudly, alerting his grandfather of his appearance. The man was sitting quietly in his chair, watching some program on his 8-channel television set. He looked up at his grandson’s intrusion and nodded before turning his attention back to the flickering screen. Mud was caked to the bottoms of Castiel’s bare feet, so he stepped back out to the porch and rinsed them off. He sat on the wooden bench to dry them and then darted back into the house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom.

The room was small and grew cold in the nighttime, but Castiel loved it more than his own bedroom back home. The Eastern wall had two large windows, the old kind with creaking panes and murky glass. Sometimes he would open one and climb into the adjacent magnolia. He’d let his legs swing from a high branch and run his fingers over the mottled bark, dully wishing he had company. He wasn’t extremely used to loneliness, but there was something enjoyable about it. Or maybe he was just a masochist. Admittedly, he wallowed in the emotion, bordering on forlornness. There were three bookshelves lined up beside the bed, one of which Castiel had fashioned into a side table by removing the books from one shelf and shoving them in empty spaces. On that piece of wood sat all the belongings he’d brought with him, aside from clothes. A canvas backpack, a deck of cards, a toothbrush, his old leather wallet, the Walkman he’d found in the attic last summer, a CD carrier, a notebook, and a few pens. The pages of that notebook were completely blank, though he sat with it propped open nearly every night, trying to think of something to jot down. The truth was that his stay had been entirely uneventful, and he had nothing noteworthy to record. The most interesting thing that’d happened had been a tornado warning a couple days ago, and that hadn’t ended up a disappointment. Something had to be off if Castiel was hoping for natural disasters.

He stripped and stuffed his clothes into the laundry basket near the door he’d been using as a hamper and padded down the hall, to the bathroom. In the shower, he resolutely decided to ride into town tomorrow, if it wasn’t raining too hard. He’d eat a sandwich at Lorraine’s, find a new book at the shabby community library, maybe visit the town’s only museum, which was dedicated to antique dollhouses. Castiel washed slowly, stretching beneath the hot spray, feeling his muscles gradually relax. He stayed in the shower until his fingers began to prune.

After returning to his room and pulling on a pair of flannel pajamas, he went down to the landing and called into the living room, “Do you need anything before I go to bed, Grandpa?” His response came in the form of a grunt. No, then. Castiel took the stairs two at a time and retreated once again into the bedroom. He flipped the light off and crawled beneath the covers, settling into the mattress. Crickets chirped outside, a sound Castiel had grown accustomed to in the past three weeks. It was a stark contrast between the city noises he was used to hearing each night. As he drifted to sleep, he imagined that the crickets were speaking to him, telling him cricket stories, laughing cricket-ly, singing their cricket folk songs. 

—

With the morning sun came a sort of sticky moistness to Castiel’s body, linen clinging to skin uncomfortably. He peeled himself away from the bed and sat up, blinking blearily in the shine of sunrise. The light immersed his room in a golden glow, tinting everything like an old-time photograph. He woke leisurely, lazily, yawning and bending. His limbs felt stiff, so he did a few stretches on the floor, borrowing some of Anna’s yoga technique. Without his siblings, Castiel felt useless, in a sense. He was a middle chlid, and therefore given responsibilities that his younger siblings were not yet old enough to take on, but withheld from freedoms that the older ones were allowed to enjoy. He missed knowing there was always something to be done, someone who needed his help. Here he was all alone. Unencumbered by the ceaseless chores and errands, yes. But without anyone to spend all this free time with. The loneliness was crushing at times. He got out of bed and dressed quickly, stopping by the bathroom to relieve himself, brush his teeth, and splash water on his face. He bounded down the stairs, backpack slung over his shoulder, pleased that it was sunny enough to ride that old bike comfortably into town. 

"Morning, Grandpa," he said brightly, yanking open the refrigerator door. He grabbed the orange juice and the milk before turning to retrieve the cereal, a bowl, and a spoon. 

"Castiel," the old man nodded, ruffling his newspaper. "Coffee’s brewing." 

"Thank you." They fell into a comfortable silence as the coffee bubbled and dripped. Castiel ate hurriedly, finally excited about something. He had a second bowl of Cheerios and downed a mug of coffee, and then said a hasty goodbye to his grandfather. Outside, he unchained the bicycle from a pipe on the side of the house and walked it down to the bottom of the hill. Grass tickled his feet with each step. When he reached that dirt road, he dropped his bag into the crate and mounted the worn bike. It was bumpy and mildly awkward, but the sun was so nice it didn’t even matter. He passed a herd of grazing cows, scattered across a field. In the distance he could see the mountains, their faces obscured by morning fog. Castiel reached the main road, already sweaty from a combination of heat and physical exertion. Another couple miles passed before he rode into town. The shops were just opening, their owners setting up for the day. He waved to anyone who made eye contact with him, happy for even inconsequential socialization. Lorraine’s Delicatessen had been open since four o’clock, so Castiel chained his bike up and grabbed his backpack. 

He’d eaten breakfast only forty minutes ago, but a glass of apple juice seemed well earned after that bike ride. He entered the little shop and sat down. The place was something out of a movie, with its black and white tiled floor, large glass display cases, racks of hanging cured meats, and transparent pie cabinet. A petite, blonde girl in an apron dropped off a menu with a tired smile and went to bring someone coffee, promising to be back in a moment. Castiel glanced over the laminated yellow pages. His gaze drifted to the pies. 

The girl made her way back over to him, pad and pen in hand. “What can I get for you?” She asked in a Southern drawl that made Castiel’s lips turn up involuntarily. 

"Coffee and pie, please," he requested, closing his menu. 

"Anything in particular?" 

"No, ma’am." She seemed to like being called ma’am, and she gave him a smile as she took the folded menu off his table. A few moments later, she returned with a cup of steaming coffee. 

"I’ll get Dean to cut you a slice of pie," she told him warmly, before going to take another customer’s order. After that, she disappeared into the kitchen. When she came out of the silver doors again, a man trailed behind her. He was at least half a foot taller than she, with sandy hair and mischievous eyes. He wore an apron as well, which accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist. His nose and cheeks were sprinkled with freckles, a wide grin plastered across his face.

Castiel stared. 

The girl pointed Castiel’s table out, and for a split second, they made eye contact. He could have sworn the man winked right before Castiel looked away, into his coffee cup. Only a couple minutes passed before a plate was being slid across the table, nudging at Castiel’s arm. He looked up and was met with a freckled, beaming face. 

"Hey," the pie man said, leaning on the formica. 

"Hello," replied Castiel. He picked up his fork and pulled the plate a little closer. He paused. Was he supposed to wait for the man to walk away? That did not seem to be happening anytime soon. 

"I’m Dean." 

Castiel looked up again. “Hello, Dean.” 

Dean laughed. “Now you tell me your name,” he grinned again, brilliantly. Castiel pursed his lips. 

"And why should I do that?" He asked, cutting off the tip of his piece of pie. It looked to be cherry blueberry. He took the first bite and nearly groaned.

"Because I made that," Dean smirked, sliding into the booth opposite Castiel. "So, you gonna tell me your name now?"

"Castiel," Castiel sighed, shoveling another scoop of pie into his mouth, sure to get as much of the flaky crust as his utensil could carry. Dean regarded him skeptically. 

"Is that a fake name?"

Castiel shook his head, mouth too full of pie for a proper response. Dean took this time to appraise him. “I’ve never seen you in here before,” he noted, crossing his arms. Castiel swallowed. 

"I’m from out of town. And I’ve been in here before, just never had pie," Castiel explained, sipping at the scorching coffee. Dean seemed to accept this. He folded his hands together on the tabletop and leaned forward. The overhead light casted shadows across his face, lashes shading his cheeks dramatically. 

"So where are you from, then?" 

Castiel nearly answered, but changed his mind. “Out of town,” he repeated. Nothing wrong with retaining a bit of mystery. Dean laughed, and Castiel was certain then that he’d do anything to hear the sound once more.

"You gotta give me somethin’, kid." 

Castiel frowned. “I am not a kid,” he said indignantly, sounding very much like a kid. 

"You’ve gotta be, like, seventeen," Dean shook his head, gesturing.

"I am eighteen. And how old are you? Sixteen?" Castiel challenged. Dean looked at least twenty, but Castiel wasn’t going to admit to that. 

"Twenty-one." The smirk resurfaced. 

"Well. I am only three years younger. You can hardly call me ‘kid.’" 

"There’s only one bed and breakfast in this town," Dean said suddenly, throwing Castiel off. "No hotels. And I know for a fact you aren’t staying there."

"So?" 

"So where are you staying? You must be someone’s relative." 

Castiel paused again. “Lester Novak. He’s my grandfather.” 

If Castiel had thought Dean’s smile was radiant before, now it was positively blinding. 

"Seriously? I used to bring him pies every weekend. He hasn’t called in ages though. We’d play chess and watch ‘I Love Lucy.’ He still got that old dog?" 

Castiel shook his head. “She passed on. He has a fish tank now.” 

They chatted idly for a few minutes longer, until the blonde girl stomped over and made a big show about Dean avoiding work and leaving her his slack. 

"Aw, come on, Jo, we’re still empty," Dean protested as she prodded at him with a broom handle. 

"Go bake a pie," she groused, before leaving to take an order. 

"She’ll be back," Dean rolled his eyes and stood from the booth. "I gotta get back to work."

Castiel nodded understandingly. His insides ached for more of Dean’s company. Anyone’s company. “It was nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand formally. Dean laughed and ignored it. 

"What are you doing tonight?" 

"Tonight?" 

"Tonight." 

"Um. Reading, probably. Or taking a walk. Or—"

Dean interrupted him, “Me and some people are getting together. You wanna come?” 

Castiel considered it. He’d have to either stay in town all day, and ride back at night, or ride back twice. Either way, he’d be riding in the dark, and that was an extremely horrible idea. 

After a moment, he said, “Yes, that sounds fun.”


End file.
